Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang Page 4

  “Yeah, something like that. We met at a club a while back and kicked it a few times. But I cut her off when I found out she was on parole. She got too many issues for me.”

  I knew it! “Let me guess,” I say, keepin’ my eye on the door, “for assaults and weapons, right?”

  He nods. “Yeah, and drugs. I ain’t with that. I’m tryna make things happen. The last thing I need in my life is that kind of bullshit.”

  “Mmmph,” I grunt, twistin’ my lips up. “Well, looks like she done brought it to you.”

  “And you know they’ll probably be outside waitin’ with a crew. But it’s whatever. My man’s in ’em will be on alert in case shit pops off. I just feel bad that I got you all up in it.”

  I shrug, shakin’ my head. “I’m not fazed. Like I said, they don’t want it wit’ a bitch like me.”

  He pulls his phone out and texts someone, then sits the phone on the table. He leans in toward me, restin’ his forearms on the table. “Yo, so did you mean all that shit you was sayin’ to her?”

  “All what shit?” I ask, playin’ stupid.

  “You know. How you’re gonna take me home with you…and you know…”

  “Fuck you?” I finish for him.

  He nods, pickin’ up his phone when it buzzes, lettin’ him know he has a text. “Yeah, that.”

  The waiter returns wit’ my dessert. I wait for him to bounce, then say, “Is that what you want?”

  He grins. “Hell yeah. Who wouldn’t? You bad as hell, ma.” He texts back, then sits his phone back on the table.

  I rest my arms up on the table. “You gotta lil’ dick?”

  “Is eight-and-a-half little for you?” I peep the Shelly bitch slippin’ back into the restaurant. She walks toward the bathroom as if no one sees her slide through.

  Oh, that crazy-ass ho done sealed her fate, I think, grinnin’. My pussy starts to moisten at the thought. She came at the wrong bitch, now I’ma bring it to ’er. “We goin’ to your place or mine?”

  He smiles, lickin’ his lips. “Mine. I’m right over the bridge.”

  “Have the waiter wrap this to go, then meet me outside by your whip. I need to use the bathroom real quick.” I grab my bag and strut off.

  On my way to the bathroom I unzip my bag and drop my blade back in, pullin’ out another weapon of choice to do this bitch wit’—brass knuckles. I decide not to ice-pick ’er ass or slash ’er up; just break her damn face. I slip my fingas through the loops, then quietly push open the door. I’m relieved there’s no one else in here besides her. She’s still in the stall. I sit my bag on the sink’s counter, and wait. And the minute she flushes the toilet, then steps outta the stall, I hit the bitch dead in her throat, knockin’ her backward. She grabs her neck, gasps for air. I hit her in the mouth, splittin’ her shit wide open. Blood gushes out. I hit her again. “Bitch, what was all that slick shit you was talkin’? Pop that shit now.”

  She is still gaspin’.

  I kick her in the stomach, rammin’ my heel into her stomach. “You ain’t gonna fuckin’ do shit, bitch!” She keels over, and I hit the bitch again. Got the ho all discombobulated. I hit her ass again, then take her by her weave and slam her face ’n head into the wall. “I don’t know who the fuck you thought I was, but you shoulda did ya homework, Booga. I ain’t that bitch. And you lucky I’m in a good mood, otherwise ya ass would be needin’ plastic surgery. But if you ever”—I bang her dome into the wall again—“come at me sideways like that again, I’ma do a one-eighty ’cross ya face, then plant a bullet in ya skull.” I let her go and she slides down to the floor wit’ her grill all bloody, still gaspin’ ’n holdin’ her throat. I spit on her. “Dumb ass bird!”

  I kick the bitch in her face, then step off, closin’ the stall door. I wash my hands, rinse off my brass knuckles then drop ’em back into my bag, poppin’ my hips out the door. Still fly, still fabulous…still that bitch! I glance at my watch, smilin’. I handled that trick in less than three minutes, not bad for a bitch who’s been outta commission.

  I can’t front, seein’ that bitch’s blood spurtin’ outta her face, gotta bitch’s slit sizzlin’. I quickly strut out the restaurant door, past the three booga bears smokin’ and waitin’ on chickie to come back out. I overhear one’a ’em say sumthin’ slick as I flip open my cell and hit Tone up. I peep him standin’ by his car, waitin’.

  “So, what’s up?”

  “You might wanna hop in ya whip, like now, and burn rubber,” I quickly say, walkin’ by him toward my rental. “It’s ’bout to be a situation in the next few minutes, so peel out now. I’ll follow behind you.”

  “Whatchu mean?”

  “Nigga, get in ya whip and let’s roll out. I laid that bitch out on the bathroom floor.”

  “Oh shiiit,” he says, hoppin’ in his ride, then pullin’ off. I jump in my whip and do the same, followin’ him over the bridge to his spot where I plan on rockin’ his cock wit’ thoughts of that bitch’s bloody face.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Muhfucka, don’t front…who da fuck you foolin’…I see it all in ya eyes…hot like fire…nigga wanna bitch to cream on da dick…tight ass gotta nigga droolin’…got ’em wantin’ to hit it ’n split it…ass clappin’…pussy snappin’…tongue lappin’ round dem balls…ready or not…can’t hold da nut…pressin’ on da clit…muhfucka’s dick’s ’bout to spit…

  “Yeah, muhfucka suck the walls outta this pussy…oh, shit, yeah…run ya long tongue on my asshole…” I’m lyin’ on my back, smokin’ a blunt wit’ my right leg cocked up over Tone’s broad, muscular shoulder, pressin’ the heel of my foot into his back. I thrust my hips upward, grind up on his face. He’s slurpin’ ’n suckin’ all over my pussy; lickin’ ’round my ass, dartin’ his tongue in ’n out. I let out a moan. Palm the back of his head while blowin’ out weed smoke. “…Yeah, muhfucka, suck my ovaries out…aaah, yessssss…”

  He looks up at me; licks his sticky lips. “Damn, ma…your pussy tastes like cotton candy. And ya asshole tastes even sweeter. I can eat this shit all night.”

  “Then stop all that talkin’,” I say, pushin’ his head back between my thighs, “and get back on that clit.” He does what he’s told. I moan, again. This nigga’s body is sick! Muscles for days, and his dick…well, it’s thick as a damn can, but the nigga musta measured it usin’ a defected ruler ’cause it ain’t no where near eight—uh, eight-and-a-half—fuckin’ inches. Try six; maybe six-and-a-half, tops. But, his savin’ grace is that it’s a pretty golden brown dick. And it’s extra fat and juicy. Hmmph. This nigga gotta stumpy, Humpty-Dumpty cock.

  See, had this been a mark, I mighta blew an extra hole in his skull for misleadin’ a bitch. I take another pull off the blunt, hold it in my lungs, then blow circles into the air. He pulls my pussy open, dips his tongue, then darts it in and out. In and out. “Oh, shit…Mmmph…” I reach for him, pull him up. “Get on ya back, so I can ride ya face.”

  He grins, shiftin’ his body. “You wanna get it in sixty-nine. That’s wassup, ma.”

  “Nigga,” I snap, pushin’ him down on his back, “ain’t nobody say shit ’bout sixty-ninin’. I’m tryna grind down on ya face. A bitch’s tryna nut on ya tongue, then suck my cream off’a it while you pumpin’ ya fat-ass cock in ’n outta me.”

  “Do you, baby,” he says, layin’ back on a king-sized pillow. I take the last three pulls off the blunt, place it in the ashtray on the nightstand, then grab the headboard, straddlin’ his face, then droppin’ down on his mouth. He slurps, licks and darts his tongue all around my pussy lips, then in ’n outta my slit. As I’m grindin’ on his face, puffin’ on my blunt, I’m all of a sudden not beat for the nigga. Yeah, I’m moanin’, but his tongue work is only givin’ me mini-orgasms. I switch up my position, thinkin’ if I have my back to him and I stroke his dick that maybe I can get off lovely. I don’t. It’s not ’til I close my eyes and focus on that bitch’s bloody face that my nut swells and gushes out all over his grill. “Aaaaaah…uhhhh…yesssssssss
s…” He gags, almost chokin’ on the bucket of cream I dump into his mouth.

  “Daaaaaaamn, girl,” he says, catchin’ his breath, wipin’ his chin ’n lickin’ his lips. “You got that sweet, creamy cum. And it gushes. I been with a buncha chicks but none of ’em ever shot a nut all over my face like this.” He licks his lips—again, then sucks his fingas. “Damn, you got that goodie-goodie. You can fuck ’round and have’a muhfucka slippin’.”

  I grin, glancin’ over my shoulder at him through hazy, weed-filled eyes. This nigga’s a cutie and his body is fuckin’ sick, but I swear I’m really ain’t beat to fuck ’im, I think, reachin’ for his extra meaty cock. But I wanna see this fat-ass dick spit. I squeeze it, then begin slowly strokin’ it. I wrap both of my hands ’round it, spit on the head of it, then put in work. I rapidly jack his dick; edge the muhfucka to the brink of blastin’ off, then slow down the pace, leanin’ over and twirlin’ my tongue ’round the head. The nigga moans. His dick gets thicker. And for some reason the muscles in my pussy start to contract.

  “Bust this fat-ass dick, nigga,” I say, strokin’ him faster, harder. “Let me see this shit spit, muhfucka.”

  “Yo, ma…oh, shit, ma…You want me to nut?”

  “Yeah, nigga…pop da cork, muhfucka.” I spit on his dick some more, then spin his top wit’ one hand while strokin’ his shaft wit’ the other. The nigga’s right leg starts to shake. The head of his dick swells, the veins in his shaft pop, and the shit gets wider in my hand. OhmyGod, this nigga’s dick is fatter than a beer can. On some real shit, a bitch is shocked at how this nigga’s dick done expanded ’cause I ain’t ever seen no shit like this in my life. And a bitch done handled a buncha dick in her time; particularly before deadin’ a muhfucka. I close my eyes, picture that ho lyin’ bloody on the bathroom floor. My pussy muscles clench. Steam oozes outta my slit. I decide to go for mine and fuck ’im real quick.

  “Where ya condoms? I wanna ride down on this dick.”

  He catches his breath, leanin’ up. “Hol’ up…there right here.” He reaches over toward the nightstand, pullin’ open the top drawer. He snatches an opened box of Durex condoms, then dumps ’em out on the bed. I grab one, tear it open wit’ my teeth, then roll it down over his dick. I swing my body ’round to face him, reach up under me, then guide his mini-bat in me, slowly—one inch at’a time ’til my pussy gulps it all down. I buck my hips; rock back ’n forth, then start gallopin’ up ’n down on the dick.

  I got the nigga’s eyes rollin’ up in his head. Got ’im grippin’ my waist. “Oh, fuck…your pussy’s tight…gotdamn, you wet… oh, shit…”

  “Yeah, nigga…take this pussy, muhfucka…you like how ya fatass dick feels in this hot pussy, nigga?”

  “Aaah, fuck yeah, yo…aaah, shit…”

  I close my eyes. Think of how I split that bitch’s shit. See her grill leakin’, and before I know it, I’m wildly ridin’ down on this nigga’s dick, talkin’ mad shit. Sayin’ shit I shoulda been keepin’ to myself. I wrap my hands around his neck. “That bitch fucked wit’ the wrong one…Next time I’ma put heat to her forehead… aaah, shit…this fat-ass dick feels good…You want it bloody, muhfucka? Yeah, muhfucka…I’ma kill that bitch…”

  “Yo ma…” I hear Tone’s voice, but a bitch’s in a zone.

  “Yeah, bitch…ya shit’s leakin’…skank-ass, gutter-trash bitch…”

  “Aaah, fuck! Yo, what the fuck!” Tone snaps, grabbin’ me by the wrists. He flips me off’a him, jumpin’ up outta the bed. “Yo, what the fuck is good wit’ you, ma? You wildin’ the fuck out, diggin’ ya nails in my neck ’n shit like that.”

  Shit! A bitch was just’a ’bout to coat this nigga’s cock. I blink my eyes. Bring him into view. Blink again. Tone brings his hand up to his neck, then looks at his fingas. He’s bleedin’. I stare at his clawed neck, shocked. “I-I…ohmyGod, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

  “Yo,” he says, pacin’ the floor holdin’ the side of his neck. “I don’t know what kinda shit you into, but I ain’t wit’ it. The pussy’s bangin’ but you into some wild, kinky shit, ma, for real. Diggin’ ya nails into my neck, tryna choke me out ’n shit. I’m not down with that rough sex shit, ma.” I get outta the bed, walk over to him. Try to touch him, but he jerks back.

  I feel bad for fuckin’ his neck up. “I apologize. I blacked out. I don’t know what da fuck I was doin’. But trust me. That’s not how I like to get it in.”

  He raises his brow. “Mmmph. I can’t tell,” he mumbles under his breath as he walks into his bathroom. He turns on the sink faucet; lets the water run for a few minutes, then comes back out wit’ two rags up to his neck. He stares at me; watches me slip into my Vickies. I’m pissed that I didn’t get the rest’a my nut off. “So you bouncin’?”

  “Well, yeah,” I say, snappin’ my bra up, “under the circumstances.”

  “Who said I was ready for you to leave?”

  “Oh, you not? Even after clawin’ ya neck up.”

  He shakes his head, smirkin’. “Nah, I want you to chill. I’m good. It’s a flesh wound. I’ve had worse. But I ain’t gonna front, you had’a nigga shook for a minute the way you flipped, talkin’ all crazy ’n shit.” He stares at me, frownin’. “Yo, what popped off in that bathroom with you and ole girl?”

  “I beat her ass,” I say matter-of-factly. I tell ’im how I brought it to that bitch’s face, splittin’ her shit wide open.

  He shakes his head, rubbin’ his chin. “Damn. You all gangsta?”

  “I was born and raised in da projects. Sleepin’ on a bitch ain’t what I do. A bitch come at me slick talkin’ ’bout how she gonna bring it, then she better be ready to get it in. Sittin’ back waitin’ on a bitch to get at me ain’t how I get down.”

  “Oh, shit,” he says, shakin’ his head, grinnin’. “You sexy and ruthless, ma. That’s a dangerous combination.”

  If this nigga only knew. “I bet I got you thinkin’ I’ma nut, now.”

  “I know you fine as hell. And you got some good-ass pussy.”

  I laugh. “But you still think I’m a nut, don’t you?”

  He grins. “Are you?”

  Am I? I mean, so what if thinkin’ ’bout bustin’ a bitch’s face up and it bein’ all bloody had my pussy on fire, that doesn’t make me nutty. Does it? “Hell no, muhfucka,” I say, laughin’. “I ain’t no nut. I’m a real bitch; all day, e’ery day.”

  I slip into my jeans.

  “Oh, word?”

  “All day, e’ery day,” I repeat.

  “Then do what a real bitch does, ma, and take them clothes back off and finish what you started,” he says, standin’ up. “You ain’t finish wettin’ my man up.” He walks up on me. I stare at his chunky dick. Wit’out thinkin’, I lick my lips. “And my man don’t like to be cheated outta bein’ up in some good pussy.”

  He pulls me into him.

  And instead of steppin’ outta his embrace like my mind was tellin’ me to, I let the muhfucka scoop me up, carry me over to his bed, pull off my jeans, remove my panties and bra, then bury his face back between my legs eatin’ my already soppin’ wet pussy. True, I wasn’t feelin’ this nigga at first, but, right now—the way he’s comin’ at me, the nigga has me turned the fuck on. On top of the fact a bitch still gotta nut clogged up inside ’er that needs to be plunged out.

  “You gonna let me get some more’a this pussy, ma?” he asks, lookin’ up at me and dippin’ two fingas into my sticky snatch.

  I lift my legs, bend at the knees, and part my pussy open wider. “Yeah, nigga…stretch my pussy, muhfucka ’cause this’ll be da first and last time you hit this good shit, so you need’a get wit’ da program before I decide to change my mind and shut shit down.”

  “Daaaaamn, ma, it’s like that?”

  “Like I said,” massagin’ my clit, eyein’ him all sexy like, “you want this pussy, then you betta beat this shit down, now, ’cause there ain’t gonna be no lata.”

  “Then I guess I better mak
e it pop,” he says hurriedly gettin’ up to grab another condom. He rips it open then rolls it down onto his bricked dick. “And this time, I’m on top.”

  I smirk. “Whatever, muhfucka; fuck all that you talkin’. Feed me da dick, nigga.” He laughs, slappin’ his cock up against my clit, makin’ my pussy twitch. The shit feels real heavy. “Stop teasin’ me, nigga,” I snap, ready for his dick to stretch me open. I tell ’im to hit it from the back, knowin’ he’s gonna spit in a matter of minutes as soon as I start makin’ my ass clap ’round his cock. A muhfucka can’t handle this juicy shit from the back for too long.

  He pushes the head in. Tip drills me, then goes all in, grabbin’ me by the hips. The nigga ain’t hittin’ the bottom, but he’s damn sure knockin’ the sides out. “Oh, fuck…this pussy’s good as hell.”

  I crane my neck, peep the nigga over my shoulder tossin’ his head back. I squeeze my muscles, grab at his dick. Make the nigga’s body shake. “Yeah, nigga…take this pussy…fuck it wit’ that fat-ass dick…” I’m nuttin’ but it ain’t bringin’ down the walls. I close my eyes, replay beatin’ that bitch’s ass earlier, keep rewindin’ her whole grill splittin’ open. I start buckin’ my hips, throwin’ the ass up on the dick.

  “Oh, fuck…aaaaah, shit…you not gonna let me hit this pussy again, ma?”

  I grunt. “No, muhfucka…” My nut is swellin’; my walls are shakin’. This nigga’s dick is stretchin’ me, but it ain’t guttin’ me. I squeeze my eyes tight. Blood splatters. “…uhhhhh…”

  My pussy rapidly milks his dick.

  “Ohhh, fuck yeah…just like that…squeeze that dick…aaahhh shit, ma…can I get some more’a this good shit, ma? I wanna keep hittin’ this wet pussy…”

  More blood splatters.

  I’m on the verge of crashin’ waves of creamy pussy juice. I urge the nigga to hit it harder; to dig it out faster. I’m almost there. I slide my hand between my legs, take two fingas and work my clit. More blood splatters. “Uhhhh…fuuuucccck me…”